Skeletons In The Closet
by TheHiddenRaven
Summary: Alfred decides its time to clean out his old storage room. Upon finding his old rifle, he is pulled into an extended flashback of his revolution. One-Shot. A/N: This was an essay I used for school so it's much less fictitious and fan-fiction-esque than some of my other stories will be.


Alfred F. Jones, formally known as America, planned to start cleaning out his old storage closet. Given recent events, the national personification needed to put a few new relics away in the room and had decided it was time he tossed out some of the older items he had held on to. Some of his older military uniforms were already in a bag at the front of the room, ready to be sent off to a museum. Most weren't even his, but rather the uniforms of the men that had taken care of Alfred as a young colony while Arthur Kirkland, the personification of England, was busy tying up loose ends at a few of his older colonies. Along with the uniforms, a few of the American's toys were tossed into the bag carelessly.

He tried not to think too much on the days when Arthur had begun making the toys for him, saying how he would always take care of his little brother. The memory was like a bitter slap to the face. Those were in the days when Alfred still called Arthur "big brother" and still waited with baited breath for the elder to come and visit his home.

"Man.. this place is so full of memories... I don't know how I'll clear..." the American trailed off as his eyes landed on an old rifle. The Bayonet was still attached to it, and, although now very worn and faded, stains of blood could still be seen on the tip of the blade. The blonde walked over to the rifle and picked it up, letting the gun settle familiarly in his arms. "It's been so long since I saw this.." He aimed the gun at the wall, taking steady breaths as though it were loaded and aimed at a target. He pulled the trigger. All the memories from that battle rushed back to the forefront of his mind.

* * *

"America, you don't have to do this!" England called through the rain, panting. The two stood on the battlefield, surrounded by soldiers from their respective countries. Although wounded, Alfred refused to stand down.

It was no longer a battle to be recognized as independent, but rather a war to define who he was going to be and to show that he didn't need a king or a parliament. The younger no longer wanted to lean on his big brother for help. He wanted to impose his own taxes, create his own laws without being controlled by someone who was hardly ever present.

"I do, Arthur." Alfred called. Using the elder's first name rather than country name showed just what level of respect he meant. He wanted them to be friends, not brothers bound by a leader that didn't care. "I'll see you around." With that, Alfred turned and called his troops off. Together, they made their way back to base. Alfred had just declared that he would be fighting for his independence. Already, he had some of his best men drafting an official document that would be sent to the king the moment it was ready.

* * *

"What happened at the Boston Massacre cannot be repeated, men." Alfred snapped. The fight itself had left a small wound on Alfred's right shoulder, that had to be patched up immediately to prevent spreading. Briefly, the nation wondered how the fight had affected his brother. A sharp shake of his head seemed to shove the thought away before it could truly take root. He couldn't afford to be concerned for him right then. Not until he was recognized for the nation he could become.

Hours passed in the planning hall. Soldiers, governors, and farmers alike passed in and out of the room, each with different instructions on what to do to help prepare. Thomas Jefferson and Patrick Henry could often be seen with their leader discussing war plans and tactics. Hours turned into days. The Committees of Correspondence were quick to take action and make changes in order to prepare.

At a meeting just a few weeks later, the new nation came up with an idea to throw off the taxes imposed on them by the king. It seemed fool-proof and like the perfect way to upset Britain without causing him any damage. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the nation still cared and wanted to avoid hurting the man that raised him for as long as possible.

"Samuel Adams." Alfred called out, his eyes scanning the room. Said man stepped forth, nodding. "Go take care of those shipments of tea. I don't care what you have to do, just keep them from being sold to the public. There will be a new shipment coming into Boston on December 16th. Dump them in the harbor, for all I care. Just get rid of them. Do what you have to do." A spark lit in Samuel's eyes. This event would later be known as The Boston Tea Party.

* * *

"The Intolerable Acts" Alfred scoffed, shaking his head. In just a few short months, the nation seemed to have grown older. His eyes looked tired regardless of how much rest he got and his body was constantly sore. "Now he's just desperate." he muttered to himself. These acts were getting ridiculous. The more America pushed for the reduction of taxes, the more taxes his brother seemed to impose.

"He thinks he can shut down my port and then shove his soldiers into my people's homes? As if I won't do anything about it." Alfred let out a sigh and pushed off the table, walking around the room. He had to come up with something he could do to retaliate. The First Continental Congress was in session that day and already multiple ideas had been shot down without question. They weren't getting anywhere.

The only suggestion that seemed to take hold was the proposal that they appear to accept all things of the parliament but refuse taxes in disguise. In retaliation the Quebec Act shut the Americans off from any claims they had, but they no longer cared.

Alfred had set up camps across the colonies weeks ago. Many were in the midst of training their militia and organizing for war. This new nation was ready to do anything to prove his worth as a country. The beginning of the next year would mark the official start of the revolution. Massachusetts would declare a state of rebellion and march to their first battle April 19th, 1775. For the first time, Alfred stood on the battlefield against his brother rather than with him.

"Al, please." the Brit called. Alfred's steely eyes told the elder that it was far too late. He had lost his brother to ideas of freedom and independence.

* * *

Montreal was in the hands of America now. Alfred hadn't wanted to involve his twin brother Matthew, but Montreal and Quebec were important cities that would be key to his victory. Matthew had sighed in resignation, letting his brother take Montreal. However, the siege on Quebec failed, damaging the relationship between the two twins permanently.

Seven months later, Alfred sent his Declaration of Independence to his brother and the King. He declared himself entirely separate and demanded to be recognized as a sovereign nation. The young man felt stronger than ever and thought he was ready for anything. That is until the Battle of Brooklyn took place. The British stormed New York and defeated Washington's army without blinking.

Alfred walked away from the battle with severe wounds to his still healing shoulder. The wound seemed to only grow as the British took New Jersey. In an odd turn of events though, Washington surprised Arthur and his troops by defeating him at Trenton and Princeton. Although minor, these victories helped give Alfred the confidence he needed to lead his own army to take back New York in the Battle of Saratoga.

Soon, France and Spain joined the American in his battle. Spain created Blockades across the world, leaving America the only open theater available to Arthur and his troops. With the help of the French, Alfred was able to take back Philadelphia and push many of his brother's soldiers back into New York.

* * *

1778. Alfred marched to the front of the battle line with a weakened ankle. The capture of Georgia and South Carolina had taken its toll. Yet still, the nation would not back down. He stood in front of his brother in Yorktown, tall and proud.

"Just give it up Arthur." Alfred called. "I don't like hurting you, you know that." Arthur ruffed and glared at him. "Oh don't look at me like that! I'm just doing what I have to! This is for me, for my happiness."

French troops stepped in line behind the Americans, prepared to fight and stand by the young nation by any means necessary. Arthur seemed to shrink where he was standing. He knew that there was no way his troops would win this battle. He had taken hits of his own and had bandages all across various parts of his body. Too many of his men had been taken down in this war.

"You expect me to believe that when you've got that French Frog supporting you?" he called weakly. Alfred sighed.

"You know I'm only doing this because I have to. Please Artie?" Alfred attempted to walk over to his brother to shake his hand, but was shoved to the ground. He gazed at his elder in astonishment before his eyes hardened. Slowly, he stood, clutching his shoulder. "Get him." Was all he said before turning and making his way through the ranks, a small shake of his head just barely distinguishable.

Arthur's cries could just be heard over the sound of gunshots and canons. Hours later, he would surrender. The war was done. A peace treaty was soon written up and signed by all those involved. America got what he wanted. He was a sovereign nation.

* * *

A sigh escaped his lips. "It seems so long ago.." Alfred said softly as he examined the rifle. Just then, Arthur poked his head into the storage room with a friendly smile.

"Hey, the tea- What's that?" He inquired, stepping inside and gently pulling the gun from Alfred's hands. "Is this from..?" A nod was the only response he got. A low whistle emitted from the Briton's lips. "Talk about memories, huh?" he chuckled and shook his head. Still no answer. "Hey, Alfred... Come on. I think it's time you take a break from cleaning. The tea is ready, yeah? What say you come have a cuppa with me? When we've finished we can come back and tackle the rest of this together."

Alfred looked at his friend and smiled softly. "You're right..." He watched as Arthur set the rifle down. The two walked out of the storage room, talking about the different things they had been through since the revolution. "I think that's one memory I'll be holding on to, though."


End file.
